


pulses can drive from here

by sagemb



Category: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkward Boners, Concerts, Driving, F/M, high school parties, teenage drinking, the jeep of jockhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagemb/pseuds/sagemb
Summary: Five times Lara Jean and Peter take Peter's Jeep and one time they stay home.





	pulses can drive from here

i.

"Have I ever told you that it's really hot when you drive?" Lara Jean asks.

Peter grins. "No, you have not. Is that what does it for you, Covey?"

"No, it just—" Her face heats up. "I didn't know it would, it just... does. When you stand. You know."

"When I... stand."

"When you stand on the nerf bars and you lean against the roof!" Lara Jean exclaims. "It makes you look rugged. You have really nice arms." And it's true. Peter's sleeves are rolled up so that his forearms are on display as he drives, one hand atop the steering wheel and the other tapping out a rhythm at seven o'clock. They  _ are _ really nice arms, tanned and muscled from lacrosse, a little veiny and distinctly masculine. Sometimes she wishes she had arms like that, but she's happy settling for a boyfriend with arms like that.

"It's appreciated," says Peter, because he's got the most awkward ways of saying thank you. He slides into a parking spot in front of the corner diner. "I'll buy you a cookie to show how much."

Better.

 

ii.

Two hours into a house party, Lara Jean gets caught up in a discussion regarding the merits of Devil Wears Prada versus Legally Blonde with Lucas and some of his friends, and when she finds Peter again, he and Greg are getting their asses kicked at beer pong. She watches him chug down his team's last solo cup amidst cheers and breaks into a grin before realizing— oh shit. He's the designated driver for the two of them.

"Peter!" she says, and he turns toward her, smiling a big, wide,  _ drunk _ smile. "Peter, how many cups was that?"

His smile fades slightly. "Three," he says, then, "and a couple of shots. Fuck. Fuck, 'm sorry, Lara Jean, I got caught up in the moment and I didn't even—"

"It’s okay," she says, sliding her hands around his waist. "That was kinda dumb, though."

He shakes his head. "We can Uber home. I'll pay for it, this was my bad."

She looks at him for a moment, then down at her half-finished first cup of beer, and says, "Give me your keys."

"Wait, why?" he asks, even as he fishes them out of his pocket and hands them to her.

"Because I don't want you driving. I'll take us home," she tells him.

"Whoa, really?"

"Yes, really. I promise I won't crash your car, I'll be super careful."

He leans into her, squinting a little. She rolls her eyes.

"I do have my license, you know. I can't be worse sober than you are drunk."

"I know," he says. Then he starts nodding. "Yeah, okay."

"Good." She leans up and kisses him. Her mouth opens to his automatically, and his tongue sweeps across her lower lip— he even tastes drunk. Not bad, though. It might even be a little sexy.

A few seconds later, she pulls away. "Come on," she says, putting her cup down. "Let's get you some water."

Peter allows her to tug him into the kitchen. They sit together as he downs two glasses of water in a few gulps before making an "aah" sound.

"Kombucha," he says.

"Okay, go get your bitter ass tea," Lara Jean responds, laughing a little, even though she's starting to like it too. They share a cup amidst a flurry of selfies for Peter's Snapchat.

(On the way home, she takes every single road under twenty-five miles per hour. Her hands are clenched around the steering wheel until Peter reaches over and rests his hand on one of hers and says, "I got faith in ya, Covey.”)

 

iii.

("My dad bought it," Peter tells her once. "About a year before he and Mom got divorced. They had an argument about it— well, not really. She said it was a waste of money. He just... ignored her. Left the room." His mouth spasms in anger; he's looking somewhere out the left corner of the windshield, and it's the one time she's glad he isn't looking at her.

"But hey, it's your car now," Lara Jean says, putting a hand on his thigh.

"Yeah." A ghost of a smile. It grows, slowly. "And without it, I wouldn't be such good friends with Kitty."

"You know, I really don't trust this little coalition you two have going on. It's kinda suss."

"Yeah, we're forming a Crash Helmet Duo together. Soon as I find mine."

She flicks him in the knee and withdraws her hand. "Hey, remember how we were gonna introduce her and Owen?")

"Hi, Owen," Lara Jean says as she slides into the passenger seat, thunking her backpack at her feet. "Kitty, say hi."

"I already know him. He's in my English and social studies class," Kitty replies haughtily before turning to the boy beside her. "Hi, Owen. You're really good at drawing."

"Thanks," he says quietly.

"What do you like to draw?" she asks.

"Uh, animals. Like dogs and stuff. And superheroes."

"Dude, that's so cool! You should draw me."

Lara Jean meets Peter's gaze. They're both smiling. By the time they arrive at the middle school, so is Owen.

 

iv.

"No drugs," Dad tells Peter, who nods solemnly. "No sex. Have her home before one."

"Yes sir," Peter says.

"Good man. Have fun, you two."

“Thanks, Dad. Bye!” chirps Lara Jean as she and Peter leave the house.

They’re driving to Portland for a Kendrick Lamar concert, because they first listened to his newest album together in Lara Jean’s room and because spring break is almost over, so they want to do one last fun thing while they still have time. Peter plays his “all-time bops” playlist on the way, which is full of the whitest Top 40 songs from the past ten years, and insists on drumming against the wheel as he drives.

“Peter, not while you’re changing lanes!” Lara Jean shrieks, and he just laughs like crazy.

“Come on, Covey, sing it!” he shouts.  _ “I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing… just praying to a god that I don’t believe in,”  _ and it’s  _ awful,  _ because he might just be tone deaf and he’s singing louder than the stereo, but she’s laughing too.

And oh, what the hell.

_ “‘Cause I got time while she got freedom,”  _ she sings softly.

“Louder!”

_ “‘Cause when a heart breaks no it don’t break even!”  _ And they’re singing together, and by the time they get to the chorus they’re doing eighty on a highway and Peter’s yelling, “Drown ‘em out!  _ What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you? What am I supposed to say when I’m all choked up and you’re okay? I’m falling to pieeeeeeces, yeah,” _ and his voice cracks terribly on the high notes, and Lara Jean’s laughter has turned into tiny little grunts and her stomach is starting to hurt.

“Stop, stop,” she croaks. “We’re gonna be hoarse before we even get there. Save your screaming.”

_ “But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding,”  _ he sings into her ear.

She pokes him in the arm. “Pay attention. If you kill us before we get there, I’ll kill you.”

 

v.

By the end of the concert, they really are hoarse from all the screaming. Lara Jean’s breathless and her heart is still pounding and her ears are ringing and her hands are shaking, but like, in a good way. An amazing way.

Peter’s got an arm wrapped around her waist, and even when they’ve exited the stadium and are making their way back to the Jeep in the dark, he won’t stop grinning like crazy.

“That was just— insane, man,” he keeps on saying. “Totally insane.”

“I think that changed my life,” she agrees.

“Kendrick. Total god. Mad flow.”

“Lyrical genius.”

“The energy in there, holy shit. Never felt something like that before.”

And it’s true: something within her chest shook loose inside that stadium. With the crowd and the groundshaking bass and the lone man taking up an entire stage, with Peter.

“I had a good time tonight,” she murmurs. “With you.”

They’re at the Jeep now, and she leans into his chest, breathing in the scent of his heavy sweat and aftershave. She feels his lips against her hair, and then his fingers hook against her chin and tilt her head up so they can kiss. Peter runs hot all over: his mouth, his hands, his neck, even his hips bumping hers. His touch feels like no other person’s does.

He backs her against the side of the car by her hips, kissing her all the while, slow and open-mouthed, occasionally swiping his tongue against hers. She reaches up and presses her thumb into the scar under his lip, then breaks off from the kiss to nip at it. Peter lets out a small whimper of surprise; she cuts it off by sucking in his lower lip.

A wolf-whistle jolts them both out of their makeout session.

“Yeah, get it!” someone yells, followed by loud whooping, and a moment later, several people walk past them.

“Thank you!” Peter yells back, which prompts more catcalls.

Lara Jean groans and thunks her head against his chest. He’s laughing a little.

“Inside?” she asks.

“Inside,” he agrees.

They scramble into the backseat, him sitting upright and her straddling him with her arms draped around his shoulders. She kisses him harder now, deeper, until they’re both panting when they draw away. He runs a slow hand up and down her back.

“Lara Jean,” he breathes, and kisses her jaw, her neck. The hand on her back reaches the waistband of her skirt and tucks itself under her shirt, leaving goosebumps down her spine. She sneaks her hands under his shirt, too, and presses her hips flush against his belly, and he groans into her collarbone— and oh. Oh. He’s hard.

“Peter,” she murmurs. “I don’t have a condom.”

His lips stop. “I… neither do I.”

She pulls back. “We shouldn’t do this here. Now.”

“...Yeah, probably not,” he agrees, panting a little.

She looks down at his lap. “Should you…”

He grins at her sheepishly and nudges her off of him. “Give me a minute or two and, uh, I’ll be good.”

“You sure?”

“Jeez, Covey, yeah, I’m— sure.” He squeezes his eyes shut tight. “You can, uh, go sit up front if you want. Just let me— yeah.”

“Okay,” she says, laughing, and climbs over into the shotgun seat. After a moment she pulls out her phone and starts picking out an Instagram filter for all the photos she took during the concert.

A couple minutes later, Peter exhales loudly from the backseat.

“You good?” asks Lara Jean, unable to resist a giggle. “Kinda sounds like you’re trying to get rid of hiccups.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Aah, I’m sorry.”

“For what? For being into it?”

“No, I just—” He scrubs an elbow over his face. “It’s just kinda… I made it awkward, I guess.”

“No you didn’t,” she reassuring him. “And, you know, there’s always next time.”

He stares at her, eyes wide.

“What?” She raises her eyebrows at him, trying to look as innocent as possible. “Take us home, Kavinsky, what are you waiting for?”

 

+i.

When they get back from spring break, AP crunch time hits full force, and Lara Jean doesn’t see Peter outside of school for three weeks. They’re together in a few classes and at lunch and over texts and Snapchat, sure, but she’s buried in DBQs and AP Lang essays and chemistry practice problems.

So the weekend before exams start, she texts him.  _ do you want to study chem together and maybe chill for a bit after _

Her phone buzzes a minute later.  _ Sure when and where? _

_ tomorrow afternoon? your house? or mine, doesn’t matter _

_ My house is good. 3pm ok _

She confirms and stares at the text conversation for a bit longer before tucking her phone into her back pocket, smiling stupidly.

When she gets to his house, they actually do study for a good while, which Lara Jean’s relieved about because she really needs to review but tends to get distracted around Peter a lot. They find an old AP exam and read and talk through the open-ended section together. It’s only slightly more bearable with a partner. Even if that partner is one of her favorite people.

“So what do we got,” Peter drawls at the end, as she’s checking the answer key. “Tell me it’s a five.”

“It could be, but we haven’t taken the whole exam,” Lara Jeans says, smiling.

“So it’s a five,” he says.

“Could be.”

“It’s a five,” he insists.

“Okay, it’s a five.”

“Yes!” He pumps his fist. “We’re geniuses. Cool. Let’s do something fun now. Where do you wanna go?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” she says. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Sure we are. Where are we going. What're we doing. What're we going, where are we doing," he asks, almost anxiously. He's got his keys in hand already.

“Where do  _ you _ wanna go?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Wasn’t really thinking about anyplace specifically.”

“Okay. I was thinking of staying in with you, actually,” she tells him. “Unless you’d rather go out?”

“No, I just… thought  _ you _ might want to.”

“You sure?”

“Uh, yeah.” He looks uncertain, biting his lip and tapping his hands against the table. “What about you? You sure you won’t be bored?”   
  
“We don’t always have to go somewhere,” Lara Jean says, and then suddenly— oh. She realizes. She remembers Gen that one time in the bathroom, saying,  _ Peter isn’t as confident as he pretends to be. _ And Gen was right, annoyingly. In their months of dating, Lara Jean’s found out that Peter is a boy who is shy to love, who often needs reassuring that he isn’t doing anything wrong. So she sits there, turning things over for a couple moments, before she says, “Tell you the truth? I am... strongly neutral about house parties.”

“What?” His brow furrows in confusion at the non sequitur. “You should’ve said. We don’t have to go anymore, if—”

“No, I still like going to them.”

“What does that mean?”

Lara Jean shrugs, smile twisting. “I guess I don’t feel strongly about house parties themselves. But—” she pauses to search for the right way to say things, because she knows it’s important that he understands her— “I like seeing you across the room and knowing that I can walk over to that beautiful guy on the other side of the room who's laughing with his friends and he'll turn toward me and look unbelievably fucking thrilled to see me coming.”  _ And I'll feel the smile in his kiss. _ “Not something I ever wanna take for granted.”

“Covey,” he whispers.

“And I’d be kinda scared at a concert alone. Not to mention missing someone to enjoy it with.”

“Covey,” Peter says again. “Covey, Covey.”

She laughs. “What, you get it now?”

“Aw, shut up,” he says, but it sounds like he means something else. He ducks his head, color high in his cheeks. “You wanna take a nap? Studying takes me out.”

“God, yes.” He’s better than an electric blanket for making a cozy bed, and always looks inordinately pleased when she tells him so. So they go to his room and settle into bed together, talking quietly until they both drift off at almost the same time.

(Lara Jean wakes up a couple hours later with him drooling into her hair. She moves her head out from under his chin— his mouth is slack and his face creased by the pillowcase— and goes back to sleep.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lot more lighthearted than what I'm used to writing. I had fun.
> 
> The North America leg of the DAMN tour happened July-August instead of in the spring, and it didn't actually stop in Portland, but let's pretend otherwise.
> 
> My Tumblr is [3wworms](http://3wworms.tumblr.com).


End file.
